


give me fire

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2459153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They’re barely in the hotel room when Archie grabs him.</i> Post-Sandy reunion fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	give me fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rajkumari905](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rajkumari905/gifts).



> For Pri, who prompted me with ‘archie as the initiator in sex.’ my mind immediately went to post-Sandy reunion sex, yay! hope you enjoy, bb!

They’re barely in the hotel room when Archie grabs him.

“Archie, what – ?” he starts, blinking as he’s pushed – none too gently – against the door, his back to the wood. 

Archie’s got one hand braced on his chest, fingers curling into Cook’s sweaty shirt, and Cook finds himself a little speechless at the look on Arch’s face, his eyes dark and determined, the stubborn set of his shoulders, the way his eyes keep flicking to Cook’s mouth.

Cook starts to say something – he doesn’t know what – but Archie doesn’t give him the chance, just pushes forward and leans up and _kisses_ him, soft and slow despite the urgency of his expression, and fuck, Cook can feel how tightly wound he is, the way his fingers clench and unclench in Cook’s shirt.

“Arch, wait – “ Cook hadn’t expected this when he’d invited Arch to his hotel room after the show, had just wanted an excuse to spend a little more time with him. He’d thought they’d talk, order room service, hang out for a while until whenever Archie had to leave; it was the first time they’d been in the same room since Archie had come home, after all.

“Just, let me, Cook?” Archie murmurs against his lips, sliding his hands up Cook’s chest, over his throat until he can curl them around Cook’s scruffy cheeks. “Please?”

It isn’t as though Cook doesn’t want this, had wanted it since he’d seen Archie backstage, since he’d coaxed the other man under the bright stage lights with him, telling him to “Give the people what they want,” grinning because Arch had shook his head at him but done it anyway, had launched into ‘Crush’ and holy shit, it had been like a punch to the gut, hearing Archie’s voice again. They’d been in touch ever since Arch had come home, but video chats and phone calls couldn’t hold a candle to experiencing Archie in-person. 

They’d put their relationship on hold while Archie was away – Arch hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t wanted Cook to wait on him at all, all guileless eyes and, “I don’t want to hold you back, Cook” – but Cook hadn’t cared. There were times he’d been angry, sure, and frustrated. Didn’t he get a say in any of this? Didn’t it matter that he didn’t want Archie to leave? But in the end, he’d known it was something Archie had to do, knew that it hurt Arch just as much to leave as it did Cook to watch him go, so he’d made his peace with it.

And now Archie was home, and he was _here_ , and maybe it was time for Cook to just shut up and _enjoy_ it.

He nods, unsure if he can even speak past the sudden lump in his throat, and Archie sighs against him, sealing their mouths together again.

Cook remembers the last time they kissed like this, the last night he’d seen Archie before he’d left for Chile; it had been desperate then, the knowledge that it would be the last time they’d see each other for two years hanging over their heads like a shroud, and the night had ended in tears for the both of them, promises and platitudes pressed into each other’s skin. 

There’s desperation now, hiding underneath the surety of Archie’s kiss, but the threat of absence – the promise of it – no longer hangs over them like it once did. 

Cook had thought, on so many of those nights when he was alone and envisioning this moment, thinking of the day he’d see Arch again, that it would be Cook leading the encounter, Cook initiating intimate contact, but he feels as docile as a lamb in Archie’s hands right now, his body shivering with the drag of Archie’s hands against his cheeks, Archie’s fingers in his hair, Archie’s tongue in his mouth.

“Come on, Cook,” Archie coaxes, pulling him forward by the shirt; he doesn’t let up on his kisses, turning them slow, almost chaste if not for the flick of tongue against the seam of Cook’s lips. Cook follows after him blindly, eyes closed, his hands finding Archie’s hips and curling above the line of his shorts. 

Archie turns them around at the foot of the bed, pushing lightly on Cook’s chest; he falls to the comforter, bouncing slightly, and rests his weight on his hands as he stares at his boyfriend, more than willing to let him set the pace.

Archie runs his fingers through Cook’s sweaty hair, pushing a few wayward strands off of his forehead. His touch is cool and soothing, though it does nothing to quell the fire rising beneath Cook’s skin. Cook leans into the caress with a sigh regardless, and he knows there’s a ridiculously besotted look on his face – he hadn’t been able to hide it on stage so there’s no way he’s hiding it now.

“I missed you,” he says, his voice a little rough, and though this isn’t the first time he’s said that to Archie since he came home, it’s the first time Arch has been able to see the depth of emotion on Cook’s face when he says it. 

Archie leans forward, his lips trembling a little, and presses a kiss to Cook’s forehead, murmuring, “I missed you too, Cook,” in his quiet, raspy voice, and Cook’s helpless to stop the rising tide of love and warmth and affection from rising in his chest. He wraps his arms around Archie’s waist and tucks his cheek against the other man’s stomach, breathing in the scent he’s missed, sweat and Arch’s deodorant and that earthy, clean scent he always carries around with him. Cook could honestly stay like this all night, tucked against Archie’s chest, listening to the soothing beat of his heart.

But it seems Arch has other plans. His fingers move with a purpose, running down the curve of Cook’s jaw, down his neck, curving around his shoulders. He pushes Cook back so that he can reach between them, gripping the hem of Cook’s shirt and pulling. Cook relinquishes it without a struggle, preening a little – inwardly, of course – when Arch’s eyes go dark at the sight of his bare chest. He runs his fingers down the line of Cook’s breastbone, over his bleeding heart tattoo, and then in a move that takes Cook’s breath away Arch slides into his lap, knees snug on either side of Cook’s thighs, and slides his tongue into Cook’s open mouth.

Cook’s hands aren’t idle – they grip Archie’s sides, running over his hips and the curve of his ass, slipping underneath his shirt to spread over the flat plane of his stomach. Arch huffs against his mouth, running his own hands over Cook’s chest, and Cook groans as those long, nimble fingers brush against his nipples. 

He moves back and yanks at Archie’s shirt, popping the top buttons so he can pull it over Archie’s head and throwing it somewhere across the room, and they both moan at the feel of bare skin against bare skin.

“Too… many… clothes,” Cook gasps out between kisses, pulling at Arch’s waistband, and Archie retaliates by grinding against Cook’s lap, surprising a startled “ _Fuck_ ” out of the rocker. 

“That’s the idea,” Archie breathes against his mouth, and then he has the audacity to _giggle_ , and holy shit, where did this David Archuleta come from? 

Cook flips them over, rolling Arch to the middle of the bed, and swallows the boy’s startled gasp with a kiss of his own, tangling their tongues together and relishing in Archie’s little mewl of content, the way his hands slide down the plane of Cook’s broad back, toying with the waistband of his jeans. He grunts as Archie slips his fingers beneath the band, gripping his ass, and Cook’s hips snap forward of their own accord, pressing against Archie’s and oh god, they need to be naked _now_.

It takes a while to get Arch out of his shorts and those ridiculous socks; any time not kissing Arch is a waste of time, and Cook can’t stop pressing his lips to whatever stretch of Archie’s skin he can reach – the sweep of his shoulder, the sweet hollow of his throat, that spot behind his ear that drives Arch wild. 

But soon there’s a pile of clothes on the floor, and Cook’s wiggling out of his jeans, and _finally_ there’s nothing but skin between them, their hips fitting together like goddamn puzzle pieces, fire licking up Cook’s spine as their cocks slide together.

Jesus, he could come just from this, the wet, slick slide of Archie’s dick against his, the breathless moans spilling from that red mouth. Cook reaches between their bodies to wrap a hand around them both, squeezing on every downstroke, and Archie _keens_ , his back arching off the bed, one of his legs winding around Cook’s hip. 

It feels so fucking good to have Archie under him again, to watch those eyes clench shut in pleasure, his mouth slack, the way a thin sheen of sweat starts to build in the hollow of his throat and across his chest. Cook looks down and groans at the sight of that cock, long and thick and red, jutting from a patch of wiry black curls. It’s so goddamn pretty against his own, precome leaking from the tip, Cook’s grip around the base slick and easy; he wants to wrap his lips around the flushed, aching head, tongue the thick vein running along the side, feel the pulse of Archie’s release in his mouth. 

“Mmm, _Cook_.” Archie’s hands slide down Cook’s chest, over his hips, fingertips digging into Cook’s skin as his thrusts speed up, turn erratic; Cook knows there will be bruises later, marks that will stay on his skin for days, and the thought sends a self-satisfied hum through his body. 

“W-wait, wait.” Archie’s fingers catch on the hand Cook has wrapped around them both, slowing Cook’s frantic strokes. “N-not yet,” he pants, and moves Cook’s hand, raising his legs so he can guide Cook’s fingers to the hot, tight space behind his balls. “Please, Cook,” he rasps, canting his hips and holy shit, Cook can’t think for the sudden rushing in his ears, his cock so hard it’s nearly painful.

“Fuck, Archie,” he groans, reaching up and kissing him hard, sliding the tips of his fingers over Archie’s hole, back and forth until Archie’s crying out raggedly against his lips. “ _Baby_ , I want to, fuck, I don’t have any – “

“Shorts,” Archie gasps out, and it takes Cook a few seconds to realize what the hell he’s talking about, focused as he is on the puckered skin against his fingertips. “Left pocket. I brought – “

“Holy shit.” His boyfriend – his gorgeous, dorky, _wonderful_ boyfriend – brought lube to his concert. His boyfriend _planned_ this. “Holy _shit_ , Archie.” Cook presses a rough kiss to Archie’s lips before leaning over the bed, digging into the discarded shorts until he comes up with a small bottle of lube and a roll of condoms. 

Cook’s brain is seriously going to short circuit before the night is over; Archie’s new-found confidence, the way he’s moving with intent instead of waiting for Cook to take the lead is driving him crazy. 

He takes a moment to stare down at Arch, popping the lid off the lube, and goddamn, there’s nothing in the world as pretty as David Archuleta in the throes of lust, his eyes half-lidded and dark, his chest rising and falling with each quick, raspy breath, the downright sinful curve of his cock against his stomach. 

The way he opens his arms to Cook and whispers, “Please, come here, Cook, _please_ ” in that voice that Cook loves, that Cook’s _missed_ so much, and Cook’s helpless to deny him anything.

He falls into Archie’s arms, fingers slick with lube, and Archie’s legs fall open without Cook needing to coax him; he’s so ready for it, pulling his knees up until they rest above his chest, and there he is, all of him exposed to Cook’s hungry, ravenous gaze. 

He rubs the pad of his middle finger over Archie’s hole, spreading a generous amount of lube over the quivering outer ring of muscle, and Archie groans, long and low, throwing his head back as Cook works the tip of his finger inside him, slow and steady and god, Archie’s so _tight_ , hot and clenching around his finger, like it’s the first time they’ve ever done this, the first time they were ever together this way.

He goes slow, until finally his entire finger is sheathed in Archie’s body, and Arch is breathing hard, the blunt edge of his nails digging into his knees, and he’s begging Cook, “More, c’mon, Cook, _please_.”

Cook pours more lube over his fingers, works the second one in alongside the first, the hot clench around them driving Cook crazy, the thought of that warmth around his cock making him moan aloud, and he needs to be in Archie _now_.

Still, he works his boyfriend open slowly, mindful as always of the other’s comfort, not wanting to hurt him, it’s been so long since he had been able to be with Arch like this, so long since his younger lover had grown used to the stretch and fullness of each encounter. 

As if knowing the direction of his thoughts, Archie opens his eyes, reaches forward to cup Cook’s scruffy cheeks, and fuck if the weight of that gentle, loving gaze isn’t enough to sear Cook to his fucking bones. 

Archie says, “I’m ready, Cook,” huffing out a breath as Cook continues to work him open, stomach muscles twitching with each thrust of Cook’s fingers, and “ _Oh_ , just get in me – “ 

Hearing those words from Archie’s mouth snaps the last tenuous thread of Cook’s self-control; he’s shivering with want as he pulls his fingers from Archie’s body, tearing the condom wrapper open with his teeth. Archie leans up and takes it from him, sealing their lips together as he rolls the latex over Cook’s cock, swiping the lube from Cook’s suddenly nerveless fingers.

He strokes his slick fingers over Cook’s member, the touch wringing a hoarse _Fuck_ from his throat, and then Archie’s pulling him forward, falling back to the bed, his legs slotting into place around Cook’s hips, and Cook’s sliding the head of his cock around the rim of Archie’s hole, pressing in, in, in, Archie’s body snug and tight and hot around him, sucking him in like Cook fucking belongs there, balls deep inside David Archuleta and shaking with it.

Cook tries to wait, to let Arch adjust, but Archie pants “ _Move_ , Cook,” into his ear, and Cook’s fucking gone, pulling out a scant few inches and then slamming back in, wanting to sob with how good it feels, how much he’s missed this, and Archie’s fingers are running through his hair, over his face, catching on his open mouth, and he’s moaning Cook’s name, that breathy, raspy voice chanting _I love you, I love you_ over and over again.

They settle into a frantic rhythm, Cook thrusting into Archie’s body over and over again, Archie meeting him each time, clenching his legs around Cook’s upper back, spreading his legs as far as they can go, opening himself up, and Cook’s so _deep_ , god, Arch won’t be able to walk for days without feeling this, feeling Cook inside him.

He can feel his release building in the pit of his stomach, his balls tightening with it, and he wraps his hand around Archie’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, squeezing around the base, and Archie _wails_ as he comes, thick spurts of semen hitting Cook’s stomach and chest, his muscles clenching around Cook, and Cook braces his hands on either side of Archie’s head, snapping his hips forward, one, two, three short, frantic thrusts and he’s coming, pressing his forehead to Archie’s, both of them trembling in the aftermath.

“I love you,” he pants, and Archie smiles up at him, running his fingers through Cook’s sweaty hair, and he knows without a doubt that they’re both finally _home_.


End file.
